


4 Johnlocks and 2 Werewolves

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Sherlock!Wizardverse Drabbles - General [20]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Jealous!Sherlock, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six Drabbles, not in any real chronological order.<br/>1. Kitchen Floor<br/>2. After a Row<br/>3. Possessive<br/>4. For a Case<br/>5. Werewolf 1 - Too Much Noise<br/>6. Werewolf 2 - It Could Be Worse</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 Johnlocks and 2 Werewolves

**1.**

Sherlock lay on his back, panting as he counted the bullet holes in their ceiling. “We really should patch those up,” John said beside him, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Bloody hell. What was in that tea?”  
      ”Nothing.”  
      “You sure? Because I could swear-“  
      ”Well… I may have been experimenting with the milk again.”  
      John turned to lay on his side and slid his hand across Sherlock’s chest. “So I tell you not to muck about with my tea, so you mess with the milk that goes _IN_ my tea.”  
      He smirked, reaching up to play with John’s gray hair, pulling his face closer for another kiss. “May need…” Kiss. “Another round of tests…” Kiss. “To confirm results.”  
      John smiled against his lips before pulling away and resting his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, his body scooting close to curl up against his side. “You can’t possibly be ready to go again.”  
      ”More tea?”  
      ”No. Let me rest,” John pleaded halfheartedly. “We’ve been at it three times already. This old body can’t take much more.”  
      Sherlock hummed smugly, playing with John’s hair again. “You do realize we’re on the kitchen floor, don’t you?”  
      “Don’t care. I bloody love retirement,” John replied sleepily, drifting off with a grin on his face.

 

 **2.**  
      Sherlock was gasping for breath as John finally collapsed on top of him. “Merlin,” he said as John rolled off of him. “We need to argue more often.”  
      ”You’ll be sore tomorrow.”  
      “Worth it,” he replied, lifting his head to turn it so that he could see John beside him.  
      John smirked, reaching over to smack that well shagged rump, causing him to wince. “You won’t be saying that in the morning.”  
      Sherlock rolled onto his side, groaning as he did so. John was right. He was definately going to be very, very sore. But he didn’t care. “I can now see the merits of sexual intercourse.”  
      ”It only took you half a century,” John said, sliding across the messed sheets to press skin to skin. Lips brushed against Sherlock’s shoulder before John’s tongue darted out to taste the sweat of his skin. “I suppose,” he said, licking him again. “We won’t be needing the room upstairs any longer.”  
      ”Unless you’d rather me move up there with you.”  
      ”This one’s bigger.”  
      ”Hmm… Yes. It is.”  
      “And it’s closer to the kitchen,” he added as Sherlock slid an arm across John’s hip, sliding a leg over one of the doctor’s so that his thigh brushed against his spent cock.  
      “Too soon,” John hissed, arching against his body anyway. “Let me rest a bit…”

 

**3.**

      Sherlock’s face remained blank as he moved closer to John, resting a hand at the small of his back. “Madame Kincade,” he said calmly, registering her reaction. “It would be greatly appreciated if you could answer John’s questions.”  
      She narrowed her eyes at him before looking to John and letting out a bit of a huff. “Wait here. I’ll fetch us a drink then shall I.”  
      When she left the counter, John looked at Sherlock with a frown. Sherlock shrugged. “She was flirting with you.”  
      ”Yes. She was. And I was using it to get information.”  
      ”I did not appreciate it.”  
      John sighed, rubbing his forehead with a groan. “Really Sherlock… She was just about to give me a name when you blundered in with your posessiveness.”  
      ”Again, I did not appreciate it.”  
      “I know. But… You know what, nevermind. It’s done. She’ll probably feed us a false lead now. And spit in my drink.”

 

 **4.**  
      ”Okay, we’ve got to have rules to this.”  
      Sherlock didn’t look up from his microscope. “We have rules.”  
      “No, I mean… For out there,” John said, gesturing to the world outside 221B Baker Street. “It’s affecting Our Work.”  
      The way John emphasized the last word made Sherlock pay closer attention. He’d always referred to it as Sherlock’s, or simply _the_ but now… “ **Our** Work?”  
      “Yes, you idiot. And we can’t exactly be effective or efficient with you practically throwing yourself all over me like some sort of cat every time someone, especially a woman, smiles at me and says good morning.” John raked a hand through his hair with a groan. “Yes, we’re together. No, I don’t care if people know it. But seriously Sherlock, if I can flirt to get information **for a case** , I’m not above doing it. You do it all the time.”  
      ”That’s different,” Sherlock said, looking up at last.  
      John glared at him. “How, exactly, is it different?”  
      “I find the rest of the planet’s population repulsive. It is not physically possible for me to follow through when I flirt as an investigative tool. You, however, do not have this advantage. You can act upon it.”  
      ”But I won’t.”  
      ”There is no guarantee.”  
      ”Sherlock, you’re a bloody idiot sometimes. You really are. Don’t you even trust me?”  
      ”Implicitly,” he replied, making the same gesture John had to indicate the world outside their own. “It’s **them** I do not trust.”

 

**Werewolf 1.**

      He couldn’t take it anymore. So many people. So much noise…  
      He stepped out onto the terrace, just for some peace and quiet. Then he’d realized he’s left his drink inside. Cursing, he shook his head. It wasn’t worth going back in there and pretending to be that happy and cheerful bloke everyone thought he still was. Not for a sodding glass of champagne.  
      He crossed to the fountain and stood with his hands on the top of the rail. Looking up into the night sky, he was grateful to see only a moonless night. That would have only compounded his problems…  
      ”A bit much,” said a voice nearby. He turned his head to see his uncle, lit only by the light from the windows inside.  
      ”Mycroft,” he said, giving a curt nod. “Yeah… too much noise.”  
      The older wizard hummed, coming closer. He stopped beside his nephew and leaned against the railing after hanging his cane from it. They stood there in companionable silence. The man who had everything in the world… and the boy who wanted nothing the world could offer.  
      ”A pair we make,” Angelo said, his voice emotionless and cold. Truly heartless. This was how he really was. Now.  
      Mycroft nodded. “My summer home is always open, should you have need.”  
      ”Thank you, but I’d rather not.”  
      “Someone will notice the connections of your monthly assignments. Your father and brother, certainly.”  
      “Hamish knows nothing. It’s… better this way.”  
      ”Hmm… Perhaps…” He pulled something from his pocket, holding it out to him with what passed for a kind smile. “Merry Christmas, pup.”  
      Angelo took it and quickly stashed it in his pocket. “Just what I’ve always wanted. A fresh supply of wolfsbane potion,” he said sarcastically, but did give the faintest smile. “Happy Christmas, uncle.”

 

**Werewolf 2.**

      Sherlock stared at him, his words even as he asked him to repeat himself. “What did you say?”  
      ”….I’m a werewolf.”  
      Angelo couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. Couldn’t bring himself to look at them. He’d hidden his shameful secret so well. He’d even planned his carreer around it. It was perfect. Get himself lost in a jungle, writing a story for some travel magazine about the Congo. Get back to himself after the full moon and not have killed anyone in the process.  
      It was perfect. It was safe.  
      And then…  
      ”I’m…”  
      ”How long?” Sherlock said.  
      ”Since I was 18. The mugging in Knockturn Alley,” he said.  
      John sighed, shaking his head. “Why?”  
      ”I couldn’t help it! How was I to know-“  
      ”No. I meant… Why _us_? It’s a wonder you four haven’t killed us with heart attacks yet. Seriously… of all the weird shit that could happen in the world…” he said, ticking the points off with his fingers. “A psychic daughter, a superbrain son that’s far worse than your father could ever be, a nymph shagging our worst enemy’s son and then going off and bloody eloping with him! Speaking of our children’s spouses… a Weasley! Your sister had to go and marry a bloody Weasley! And let’s not forget Hudson’s bizzare morphamagus ex-wife. And now…” John laughed as Sherlock and Angelo stared at him, thinking he’d finally gone barmy.  
      “Now… something as simple and normal as a bloody _werewolf_. Honestly… You thought **THAT** would be worse than christmas shopping for both a Moriarty and a Weasley!”


End file.
